Cold
by Fallen Ark Angel
Summary: Steph has a cold. Which, actually, means very little to Paul. Other than, like, he has to buy some soup or whatever. And that he gets to mock Vince a bit. But other than that, it's a pretty regular day. - One-shot.


Paul got up early to head to the gym.

This was his frequent Friday schedule and he went through the motions of heading out as usual. There were times when Steph, should she be up for it, would tag along with him, so, as always, he gave her shoulder a slight shake to check on her.

"Hey, Steph, I'm headin' to go work out."

"Mmmm."

"You not comin'?"

"Mmmm."

"Alright then."

And she didn't open her eyes and hardly moved, but Paul didn't think much about it. He actually had far more to be concerned with. The new year was looming overhead and he was busy getting back into, as it were, fighting shape. He'd finished his rehab for his his turn quad and was in the middle of a heavy training and dieting regimen. He had to build back all the muscle that had whittled away while he was off.

Which, admittedly, was easier to do when Stephanie wasn't around.

Not that he didn't enjoy her following him to the gym. Because he did. It motivated him, in many ways, but at the same time, it kind of distracted him. He always wanted to show off to her and that just wasn't what he needed to be focusing on.

Living with Stephanie was much worse, he was certain, that just fucking her was. Or it would be, rather, to some of the people on the roster. And no matter what happened when he returned to WWF, he'd constantly be accused of favoritism being shoved his way.

Which meant he had to come back harder and stronger and overall just better than each and every one of them.

Stephanie liked when he talked that way. So he did frequently. She used to hate, when they were first outed as dating (although they'd begun doing much to aid the rumors surrounding them before that) the way that others would heavily imply that he was dating her purely for the benefits. Which, of course, had occurred to her many times and, though she'd never mentioned it to Paul, she fretted on frequently as well.

As time went on for her, however, she found this very much so not to be the case as, at one point, dating her nearly _lost_ him his position rather than improved it in any way. Still, this did nothing to quell the aggravations of others who saw him as capitalizing on her attraction to him and using it to whatever advantage he'd want over them.

She'd begun to like, however, when he would speak on it recently. When they'd be sitting on the couch, watching television, and she'd ask him about his day which, basically, involved the gym, if it was one of those days, and little else. Maybe a concert or a movie or hanging out with people she hardly knew so she'd have little interest in that. He felt as if he was living a rather boring life without Wwf. Inevitably, the same topic would pop up that always did.

Paul wanted to be the best talent that had ever come back onto the roster after an injury. Ever. Put the others to shame. Show them just what he was about and why he would, always, be better than every single one of them. Not because he was sleeping with a McMahon, but because, rather, he was simply the best there ever was.

He inflated, of course, his sense of self in these times, but Steph seemed to enjoy him the most when he was at his peak of egotistical ways.

She liked him at the peak of many things. Though he didn't treat her that way often, when he was busy with other things and acted dismissively towards the woman, she seemed to want to be around him all the more. Or when he was a little, well, rough with her when they were… That was her favorite too. And damn if when he was pissed off did she not seem to get off on it.

Though, honestly, if he was going to consider it all, the woman seemed to get off on nearly every thing he did. She liked it when he was sweet, she liked it when he was an ass. She loved it when he told her how much he cared for her, she loved it when he pretended to be indifferent. She enjoyed it when he was gentle, she enjoyed it when he was harsh.

Hell, what was the point of even considering any of it at all? The woman just loved him.

And...honestly, he was pretty okay with that.

He didn't tell her often, he never would, but Paul found that he loved the woman an awful lot as well.

Which is why, when he arrived home from the gym with a doughnut and coffee for her (he was on that strict diet, however, and, honestly, would never eat something like that to begin with; Steph though he was a health nut, he just thought he was intelligent), he found himself at a crossroads.

"I'm," she moaned to him as she laid in bed, bundled up under the blankets and sweating rather profusely, "sick."

Paul made a face, at those words, before moving to set the baggie with her doughnut down on the nightstand, as well as her coffee.

"Sick?"

Nodding, she stared rather miserably up at him. Her eyes were red and looked gunky and just...gross.

Steph looked gross.

"Yeah," she croaked out as he only stood there, staring at her. "My throat's killing me and my head hurts and-"

"Did you take some aspirin? Or something?"

"I haven't gotten up."

He reached out to pat her on the head, though she shirked away at that. "I'll get you a glass of water and some pills, huh? Just give me a sec."

Steph still was just lying there miserably when he got back to her. When she sat up to take the pills and glass from him, Paul only smiled at her. And, after she swallowed half the glass as well as the medicine, Paul leaned down to kiss her.

He immediately got shoved back.

"Wha-"

"I'm sick." She shifted further back on the bed as he still leaned over it. "You can't be around me."

"Why not?"

"Because, Paul, you're, you know, getting ready to come back in, like, two months."

"So?"

"So," she went on, "every single day until then, you have to spend getting ready for that. You can't risk getting sick."

"Steph-"

"You can't. So go."

He straightened up before asking, "Then you don't want me to nurse you back to health?"

"Why? Were you going to?"

He was certainly hoping not. Now, he'd been prepared to because, you know, he was supposed to be in love with her and all that garb, butt that had never been his strong suit. Plus, just to reiterate, she looked _gross_.

"Not if you don't want me to, I guess. I just thought that you were the type that, you know, would be pleased by that."

Steph fell back into the bed. "Just get me another glass of water, huh? And some crackers? Then you can go."

"Go?"

"You can't be here, Paul." She repeated that part with a bit of annoyance. "I don't want to get you-"

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do all day?"

It was their usual together days, Friday and Saturdays, when Steph didn't have to be at work and they just got to enjoy one another. They were going to go out to see a movie that afternoon and just spend some time hanging around town, but that was apparently out.

"I don't know, Paul. Whatever you usually do when you're not at home."

Which she thought he seemed unnecessarily annoyed by, but he typically didn't enjoy it when she told him what to do. It was something that had yet to grow on him (it would).

Still though, he got her what she requested, gave her a kiss to the cheek against her will, and then left.

He wasn't gone for long though. His diet, while being stringent, was also rather rigid in its timing. He had to eat very specific things at very specific times.

Steph was sleeping when he got back though as he found, when he peeked in on her. Finding it best to keep her that way, he avoided the bedroom and moved around as silently as he could. After eating, he figured he'd out to the park and walk around a bit, which he left to do after checking on his girlfriend one more time (she looked less gross when she was sleeping).

Typically busy with Steph on such days, Paul didn't have a lot of easy plans to come by. A Friday afternoon was typically rather busy for the few non-WWF friends he had, as they had actual jobs and, as such, had to work during those times.

He eventually found himself at the store, which he usually wasn't about, especially now that he had Steph to do that sort of thing for him, but he did need some more food and it was clear the woman wouldn't be going anywhere for him any time soon.

After stocking up on protein powders and other necessities, he found himself going down the canned food aisle, staring in shock at all the different kinds of soups there were. He knew, of course, chicken noodle was the standard for sicknesses and such, but there were so many different brands.

He wasn't even sure why he felt like he should have to get her some anyways. She was the one that told him that she didn't want him taking care of her. At all. Which buying her soup was totally taking care of her. And if he did it once, well, that would open up the completely horrible world of him doing it every single time she got sick.

And who wanted to open that up?

Still, with a sigh, he dropped some cans of soup in the basket along with his stuff and figured, if the roles were reversed, the woman would make him soup, if not do more. She had, afte rall, put up with him during his quad injury for all those months.

Back at the house, he found Steph had gotten up at some point, as she was stretched out on the couch, television on, but she'd passed out at some point. After putting all the groceries up, he put her can of soup on the stove as he downed one of his protein shakes.

Steph was still sleeping when the soup was ready, but he just went to go carry a bowl of it out there to her, shoving at her shoulder when he got close enough.

"Hey, sit up." The man grinned as she only blinked sleepily at him. "Look. I made you soup."

"Paul?"

Nodding, he watched as she shifted on the couch, so that he could sit beside her, moving her blankets out of the way as he did so. Then, presenting the bowl to her, he said, "I also bought you tons of medicine. I wasn't really sure what's wrong with you, so I kinda just bought a bunch of different things. I think that the checkout guy thought I was gonna go home and make, like, some sort of narcotics or something."

As he passed off the bowl, Steph did that really disgusting then where she snorted some snot rather loudly. He knew she had to be feeling like real shit then, if she was going to do that in front of him.

"I got you some tissues too," he said, jumping up then to go get them. He returned with not only the box of those, but also the pill boxes and a little baggie of cough drops. "I dunno if you're, like, coughing or not, but these are good for sore throats, right?"

He was bombarding her with a lot then and Steph only held the bowl in her hands, watching as he sat the pills on the coffee table, the baggie next to her, and the box of tissues on the side table. Then, slowly, he sat down once more.

"You feel any better?"

"I'm fine."

Or at least that's what she tried to reply. It came out rather croaky and Paul only nodded, taking more from how it was said rather than what was said.

"Well," he told her softly as he gently knocked elbows with the woman. "You just rest up, alright? I-"

"I should go stay," she told him after swallowing a spoon full of soup, "to a hotel. And stay away from you. I-"

"What? Stephanie-"

"You can't get sick right now," she reiterated. "You-"

"I'm not going back for another-"

"And you need every single day to-"

"I'm staying right here, woman. And so are you." And that was final. Frowning then, he glanced at the television. "And can we please watch something else?'

They spent at least the next twenty minutes with only silence between one another. Steph at most her soup, but eventually handed it off to him to put away.

"Are you not hungry?" Paul wasn't sure, exactly, just how her stomach was feeling. "Since you said your stomach hurts, I also bought you ice cream-"

"Really?"

Nodding, he said, "I wasn't really sure what to buy, so-"

"You're too sweet."

"Nah." Paul got up then, to dispose of the soup. "I'm just the right amount."

Stephanie slept a lot. A whole lot. And Paul was kinda bored, but she did hand over the remote to him to control as she rested with her head in his lap mostly, her feet at other times. He was a rather good sport about it.

"I, like, never get sick," she complained to him once, when, after going to the bathroom, she came to sit up on the couch and just lean against him instead. "I mean, I'm not complaining; if I had to get sick, I'm glad that it was on my off days-"

"I'm not."

"You better be." She sniffled a bit before reaching for the box of tissues. "Dad doesn't believe in that word. Sick. It can be an angle, maybe, but you don't get sick."

"I bet his little girl can get sick." Paul patted her on the head perhaps a tad too roughly, given the glare she gave him. "Old Vince would probably rewrite the whole night for you in one day, if you asked."

"He might make _me_ sit around with the writers and rewrite an entire night in one day, but that's probably about it."

"You know, your father warned me of such ungratefulness from you."

"Oh, please."

Nodding, Paul said, "I told him, 'Vince? What are you talking about? Steph's totally thankful towards me.' And he was all like, 'That's how she gets you.' And then I said, 'Maybe it's just you that she's ungrateful towards. Since, you know, you're trying to ruin the best thing that ever happened to her. Me.' And then he said-"

"In what world does this conversation take place? Because I know-"

"Babe, hush. I'm talking."

"Paul-"

"And then he said," the man went on, "'That's my daughter! You don't think that I don't know how she is!' So I told me, 'It's different for you and her." And he asked, 'Why?' And I said, 'Because I fuck her good.'"

Paul sat there too, with a big smile on his face, staring down at his girlfriend, as if waiting for some sort of reaction.

"Go get me ice cream, Paul," was her only response. "So I can remember why I'm with you again."

"It's not because I get you ice cream, Steph. It's because I fuck you g-"

"We should, like, increase the pay of our writing staff if this is the sort of material you bring to the table by yourself. You'd, like, make Triple H seem like a completely moron."

"Well, he does fuck you too, so-"

"Would you stop-"

"I'm getting your ice cream." He stood then. "Since apparently my humor isn't making you feel any better."

"I think I'd like potty jokes better than this garbage." Then she considered. "You do a pretty good impression of my dad though."

"I should be able to. We did have very long, drawn out talks, you know. Or at least long, drawn out times when he shifted between trying to be rational and trying to fire me. I mean, it's not like I was fucking his underage daughter or something."

"Because that's a thought I want in my head."

"I mean, if you were even eighteen or nineteen _maybe_ I would understand, but-"

"Why are you bringing me the whole carton?" Steph complained as the man returned with it as well as a big spoon. "Paul-"

"Because I'd never eat it," he said with a frown, sitting beside her. "So it's all yours. Why wouldn't you eat straight from the carton?"

"Because," she whined, just a bit though she did pull off the top and dug right in, "it makes me feel fat."

"Then don't."

"Don't what? Eat it?"

"No." Then he frowned. "Well, yeah, but no. I meant just don't feel that way."

That got him a deadpan look from Steph, highlighted well with the fact her eyes looked sunken and she was the palest he'd ever seen her.

"Right, Paul. Thank you. Because that's the answer to everything every woman feels."

"Not every woman. Some are fat. You're not. So don't feel like you are."

She elbowed him. "You have such a way with words."

"Well, if you don't get my humor, you should at least heed my advice."

"Mmmm...nope."

"Then what exactly am I good for? Huh?"

Resting against him once more, Steph tried not to sound too miserable as she said, "You fuck me pretty good."

He laughed too, heavily, but she just sat there, listening. Then, still laughing, one arm hugging her to him, he glanced down at the woman before saying, "Why's it funny when you say it?"

"Because I have great comedic timing."

"Is that it?"

Nuzzling up under his arm more, she only said, "Mmmm. My throat hurts, Paul."

"Eat your ice cream then." He was still chuckling slightly, as he went back to the television. "Princess."

Steph went to bed early that night while Paul, once all his friends were finally free, found some guys to hang out with. Not before clearing it with the woman, of course, but she was rather insistent that he go. Paul thought it was one of those tricks, of course, where she told him to go, yet didn't mean it, before he remembered she was the same woman that was going to go stay somewhere else, to keep him from getting sick.

She had begun treating him like a child in a lot of ways. She seemed to think that any little thing would set him off, originally from the anger she knew he felt over his quad injury and later for fear of adding to stress his imminent return was causing him. Now, apparently, she also thought that even getting a cold would completely ruin everything.

It was so...annoying, but also a bit cute. In some ways.

Mostly annoying though.

When he got in that night, she was sleeping, of course, curled up in bed, and Paul only went to get her some more pills, which he woke her up to take, before falling into the bed with her.

"You gonna need this amount of care in the morning?"

"What care?" came her hoarse complaint from against his side, which she pressed her face against. "You made me soup, gave me ice cream, and then left."

"I bought you pills, you ungrateful woman. I should have listened to your father. He-"

"We're not," she groaned, "doing that again."

"Okay." He reached down with one hand, gently stroking her cheek, the woman moaning against his touch. "We have all of tomorrow to-"

"If I have to listen to your little sketch between you and yourself as my father-"

"I have so much more material."

"Does it all end with-"

"There's variations, but I'm sure you'd feel that way."

"Then spare me." Steph was drifting off again. "Please."

"I got this one where-"

"Paul-"

"We can go to sleep." Her cheek got another stroke before his hand fell away and he took to staring up at the ceiling. "Feel better, baby."

She sure hoped so.


End file.
